


black, my world if he's not there

by bottleredhead



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, I just love these characters okay, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Prompt Fic, Revolutionaries In Love, Sorry Not Sorry, There will be fluff, and I love blowing holes in my own ship, aw yiss, the Amis love texting okay, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: No one has ever seen Enjolras cry before so no one knows what to do when he breaks up with Grantaire and can't seem to stop. Bonus points for Grantaire eventually slinking back and being the one to placate him. Comfort sex or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	black, my world if he's not there

“Fine! Just… whatever you want, Apollo. Heck, you’re probably better off this way, anyway.”

Les Amis watch in silent horror as Grantaire grabs Courfeyrac’s bottle of Jack before walking out of the upper room of Café Musain without a single backwards glance. Eponine, being his best friend and roommate, runs after him, but not before shooting Enjolras a venomous look that would make a weaker man fear for his life.

Enjolras, for his part, stares stoically at the notes scattered all over the scarred wooden table pushed against the wall, next to his makeshift stage where he delivers his speeches to Les Amis. It’s not as if Grantaire and Enjolras never fought, because their arguments are as legendary as their consequences, but no argument was quite this bad; they’d never broken up before.

And that’s probably the most shocking aspect of this argument. Enjolras broke up with Grantaire. They’d been dating for a solid, blissful (especially for Les Amis, who just couldn’t side with one or the other when the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan) year. Of course, true to form, they’d argued and taken breaks, but those usually ended with loud make-up sex that none of their friends particularly enjoyed hearing (when the reunited couple didn’t bother to wait until they reached Enjolras’ flat and had to make do with the bathroom tacked on to the end of the upper room at the Musain almost as an afterthought) but were glad to have as an indicator of things being righted again.

Because when Enjolras and Grantaire fight, the fearless leader of Les Amis becomes even more short-tempered, his anger mixing with his passion for Patria to become a dangerous and highly-explosive mix that scares just about anyone into submission – no, really, whoever manages to bottle that horrible fury would be capable of starting a third world war infinitely more vicious than the first two combined.

That is not to say Grantaire is fine after an argument with Enjolras. Oh no, the self-destructive cynic’s negativity seems to multiply tenfold following an exchange of heated words with his lover. He usually ends up drinking himself into a blind stupor that has more than once left him locked in a hospital ward under 72-hours of suicide watch.

Admittedly, the group of friends know that their leader and drunkard are locked in a vicious cycle of love/hate that is bound to destroy one, the other or both in a burst of passion. Yet, they can’t bear to speak a word to one of the involved parties about it for fear of instigating and attracting the fire of their combined wrath.

Because while Grantaire called Enjolras Apollo, the dark-haired man himself is Ares, self-destructive and trodden on the war-path since his youth.

Now, however, the group is unsure how to act. Eponine hasn’t come back yet; they figure she’s not going to be back tonight at all, instead spending it soothing a surely (and evidently, if going by his shaking hands and bloodshot eyes prior to leaving) heartbroken Grantaire.

Jehan, gentle soul that he is, hides his face in Courfeyrac’s shoulder, thin frame shaking with tears. Courfeyrac simply holds him, brows furrowed as he watches Enjolras along with Marius, Combeferre, Feuilly and Bahorel. Bossuet is busy shushing Joly as he frets over Grantaire going out into the cold December night without his coat, which is still hooked to the row of hooks along one wall.

Cosette is the only one with enough courage to step up to Enjolras, but even she has enough self-preservation skills to stop a few meters away from him. “Enjolras?”

The man in question does not answer her, choosing instead to continue his staring match the notes-filled paper. He seems to have turned into the marble statue Grantaire is often fond of comparing him to, as though a single movement could shatter him “and even marble can be broken, my dear Apollo” ‘Taire’s voice is whispering in his ear.

He knows his reasons for breaking up with Grantaire are unfathomable to anyone but him; he doesn’t need to explain himself to anyone. But that nagging voice in the back of his head is urging him to rethink his decision.

Fat lot of good that’ll do now, the damage is done. Objectively, he knows that Grantaire would take him back were he just to imply that he wanted Grantaire back. Objectively, he knows Grantaire venerateshim, mkee him up to be something he is not, a god, an Apollo come to life. And objectively, he knows that he’s drawn off Grantaire’s love for the year they were together, using it as a crutch when his own passion failed him.

Yet, it is that very love that he greedily coveted that scares him the most. Enjolras has never known himself to love anyone or anything beyond Patria and his fight for her freedom. But as he spent more time with the cynic, he found himself in uncharted territory. So, determined and frightened of what his feelings were doing (namely, wrecking havoc inside his chest at every glance, every touch from Grantaire), he made up his mind to break up with the one person he- no, he can’t say it, because that’ll make it real.

Grantaire should have expected this, really, seeing as Enjolras never said ‘I love you’ back. But Enjolras knows that Grantaire has decided long back to settle for whatever affection Enjolras could spare him. The thought hurts.

It does not hurt as much as, however, the thought of Grantaire seeking and finding solace in someone else’s arms. The idea of some unnamed stranger waking up to find Grantaire drawing him, having Grantaire kiss him, making love to Grantiare… just having Grantaire love him at all is… excruciatingly painful.

It’s this train of thought that wrenches a sob from Enjolras.

*

Combeferre startles when he hears a sob coming from where Enjolras is standing. Confused, he looks to the other Amis to see whether they’re on the same page.

They are.

“E-Enjolras?” Combeferre asks hesitantly. His question is answered by another sob, muffled against the tan, golden skin of their ever-but-not-anymore stoic leader. As they watch, Enjolras’ shoulders begin shaking with the force of his sobs, body turning towards the window and away from them as if to maintain a modicum of privacy. 

The shock reverberating through the room is palpable, each Ami unable to come up with an appropriate response to Enjolras’ tears. Some of them appear to be unable to process the fact – probably because Enjolras has never been anything but confident in front of them, passionately giving out speeches about freedom and equality (he does cry rather passionately, though), the only other emotion he’s capable of being ‘angry’ – and that’s usually directed towards Grantaire’s antics or smart-aleck quips.

Tentatively, Cosette closes the space between her and the crying revolutionary and awkwardly pats Enjolras on the shoulder.

The movement reminds Courfeyrac of a gif he saw on tumblr of a friend consoling another friend by patting the crying one awkwardly on the back with a broomstick, along with the tagline ‘when one of my friends breaks up with their boyfriend/girlfriend’ and damn it’s such an inappropriate moment but he struggles to contain his giggles.

Well, this is awkward…

*

Luckily, Bossuet has the presence of mind to text Eponine, a quick missive outlining the situation along with a stream of panicked emoticons pinging its way into her phone.

Not five minutes later, Grantaire bursts through the door of the Musain, taking the stairs two at a time and bounding into the room where they’re all gathered.

The sight that meets his eyes is one that almost stops his heart.  
His lover, his Apollo, is crying, heart-wrenching sobs that sound as if they’ve been pulled from deep within his chest echoing around the room as a panicked-looking Cosette tries to console him to no avail. 

Thanking his lucky stars that Eponine had caught up to him before he could down the bottle of whatever he’d nicked from Courf on his way out, Grantaire steadily makes his way to the centre of the room, quietly shooing everyone out. Cosette and Jehan kiss his cheek on their way out, the rest offering some sort of pat or squeeze to show their support as they filter one by one out of the warm room.

Wordlessly, Grantaire crosses the room to envelop Enjolras in a hug, his arms coming around the Apollo look-alike comfortingly; just like he’d do late at night as Enjolras sleeps and his insomnia gets the better of him and leaves him bereft of sleep.

Enjolras doesn’t push Grantaire away, instead turning to grip his ex-boyfriend’s shirt, white knuckles fisting around the material possessively. Their bodies meld into one another fully, each and every line pressed up close and personal against the other’s. Feeling his beloved tremble and shake in his arms, sobs subsiding into silent, body-wracking tears, Grantaire tightens his grip and rests his chin on Enjolras’ golden curls – a feat only manageable due to the fact that Enjolras is curved into Grantaire’s chest.

It takes the black-haired man a while to realise that Enjolras is saying something and a little longer to decipher the words being muffled against his Arctic Monkeys t-shirt.

“Don’t go,” Enjolras is murmuring but that can’t be possible.

You’re the one who broke up with me, Grantaire wants to say. He whispers, “I’m staying right here,” instead.

The pair stands like that for a while, each feeling a bone-numbing pain deep in his chest and both unwilling to say anything lest they shatter the moment and things turn ugly again.

I love him. I love him and it terrifies me.

I won’t survive if he doesn’t take me back, fucking damn it, I love him so much.

Eventually, Enjolras stops crying. He does, however, loosen his fists, drawing away from the man who he loves so much that it feels like the emotion is ripping a hole through him.

He looks up to find Grantaire staring at him with an unreadable expression, though the haunted look in his eyes is visible through the enforced stoniness. “Enj…”

“No,” Enjolras shushes him, finger rising to rest against Grantaire’s lips. “Let me. I owe you an apology. I- I acted abhorrently towards you. I don’t want to break up with you.”

“Then why-“

“I’m in love with you.”

The words aren’t rushed or too quietly-said but Grantaire has a hard time accepting them.

“You’re… in love… with me?”

The tone of disbelief is as clear in his voice as if it had been written on a Post-It and stuck on his forehead. Though he knows he has no right, Enjolras feels offended by the implications. He knows what love is, thank you very much, and while he calls Patria his mistress, he is not oblivious to the fact that She is not, in all actuality (and physical senses of the word), his mistress.

“Yes. I am.”

“B-but I’m me. I destroy everything I touch and my vices are more numerous than my redeeming qualities – that is, if I have any. You’ve said so yourself, many times. I’m worthless and contribute nothing to the community, as well as being a drunkard of epic proportions with no foreseeable future.”

The way the last sentence is uttered, Enjolras knows that Grantaire is quoting his own words, throwing them back at him without any real reprimand – and that causes Enjolras to have an epiphany.

Oh, you really believe those things about yourself, don’t you, you fool?

Surging forward, Enjolras takes hold of Grantaire’s face and presses their lips together.

A burst of heat erupts somewhere behind his navel, a liquid fire that shoots straight to his groin. His heart, overjoyed by finally causing his mind to succumb, beats a rhythm not unlike that of a rock song, all fast-paced and booming.

Within seconds, Grantaire is pulling him closer so that he can press his rapidly awakening length against Enjolras’ thigh. The sensation all but drives him insane, causing him to fully meld himself into the seemingly preternatural, black-haired creature in front of him, desire rushing through his veins and scorching him from the inside until the world falls away and all that stays is the kindling that has burst into flames inside him and the pressure of Grantaire’s lips on his. 

They break apart after what seems to be ages, and even then it’s only because their lungs are burning due to lack of oxygen – dumbly, Enjolras mentally notes that he should figure out a way to not need air so much because having to stop kissing Grantaire is rather annoying. The practical part of his brain scoffs. Enjolras shushes the voices in his head (seriously, why does he even have voices in his head?) 

“I can hear you thinking,” says Grantaire, voice ragged and breathless. His cheeks are flushed from their kissing, a burst of colour that makes him look even more gorgeous, in Enjolras’ opinion.

Leaning forward, Enjolras captures Grantaire’s lips once more, fingers curling around the ink-dark hair, tugging in the way he knows Grantaire enjoys. True to form, the other man moans into his mouth, allowing him access so that the kiss turns into tongues and teeth and ohmygod he’s so hot right now he’s probably going to explode if he doesn’t fuck Grantaire senseless.

*

Later that night, as Grantaire curls around Enjolras, hair splayed across the latter’s naked chest and beads of sweat hanging at the edges of his lashes from their, er, activities, Enjolras reflects on the fact that his life is, if you forget the injustice in the world and various issues like racism and homophobia and poverty and oppression and the many, many other problems he’d only be to happy to tell you about, perfect.

*

Text from: Eponine

YOU HURT HIM AGAIN AND I’LL  
CUT YOUR THROAT YOU THINK  
YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR ‘TAIRE  
YOU LITTLE-  
[Text message too long to be displayed.]

Text from: Courf

Ep told me ‘Taire texted her.  
SOMEONE’S GOTTEN LAID, HUH?  
;););)

Text from: Combeferre

I hope you’ve pulled your head  
Out of your ass and made up with him.  
A blind man can see that you love him.

Text from: Eponine

‘TAIRE JUST TEXTED ME YOU BETTER  
TREAT HIM RIGHT AND CONGRATS  
ON THE SEX ;) DO THAT TO HIM AGAIN  
AND YOU’LL SEE-  
[Text message too long to be displayed.]

Text from: Jehan  
Courf told me you two made up.  
I’m happy you’ve finally figured out  
What we’ve all known for months <3

Text from: Musichetta

The boys and I heard. FINALLY!

Text from: Bahorel

Good for you man

Text from: Feuilly

What ‘Orel meant was: we’re  
happy for you both!

Text from: Cosette

Enj, Marius lost his phone  
But he says congratulations!  
It’s great that you finally realized  
Because Grantaire really-  
[Text is too long to be displayed.]

Text from: Grantaire to Group: Les Amis  
yes yes thanks the sex was amazing  
now all you fuckers let me go to sleep  
in peace

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta-ed, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks always appreciated!
> 
> I'm enjolraspermitsit on tumblr (formerly bottle-redhead). My ask box is open if you guys have any prompts or ideas.


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